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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064487">Tumble on Ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilindielTheElf/pseuds/PilindielTheElf'>PilindielTheElf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And so the Angels Sing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Ice Skating, crowley needs to get good, ice skating fails, minor character appreciation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:42:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064487</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilindielTheElf/pseuds/PilindielTheElf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Crowley attempts to ice skate and fails.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And so the Angels Sing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tumble on Ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley dropped his quill onto the table. Leaning back against his chair, he cracked his knuckles and sighed. He had finally finished sketching out a map for Pritchard, and that meant he had officially finished everything on the list his mentor had given him for that day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing, Crowley rubbed his eyes. He picked up his mug, downing the last of his coffee before looking out the window. Snow flurried down from the sky. It covered the trees and paved the ground with white. Icicles hung down from the roof, its sharp point like an icy dagger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From inside the cabin, he could just about see a lake. It had iced over a few days prior, and Crowley reckoned that it was probably safe enough to walk on. Of course, Pritchard didn’t share the same sentiment when he had suggested the idea. But Pritchard wasn’t there. He was at the village restocking their supplies. He didn’t have to know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley grinned to himself. He grabbed a pair of skates from his room. He had purchased them the year before, but it had been too late then to have gone skating. Fastening his cloak, he pulled on his gloves and pushed the door open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind blasted against his face, catching him in surprise. Crowley stumbled backwards as shivers went down his body. He stepped out onto the veranda, closing the door behind him. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened them when Cropper neighed. Crowley glanced at his horse, and he crossed his arms. “Don’t give me that look,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is a bad idea. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted. “I haven’t even told you the idea.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t say I didn’t warn you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley rolled his eyes. Huffing out a breath, he jumped down the veranda and saddled Cropper. “I would never,” he muttered. “This is a great idea.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cropper seemed to laugh as Crowley mounted, but he didn’t say anything else as he trotted towards the lake. Crowley glanced at the sky. There was only a few hours before dusk, so he would have plenty of time before Pritchard returned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lake was deep blue, sprinkled with little snowflakes. Under the glare of the sun, it looked like a tinted mirror. It was strangely calm and tranquil, serene like looking over the world on a mountaintop. There wasn’t a single animal; the birds had flown south, and most others had gone into hibernation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sliding onto the ground, Crowley tapped a foot on the ice. He frowned thoughtfully, sharing a glance with Cropper before jumping onto it. His smile slowly grew as he stomped his feet onto the hard ice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you!” he laughed. “It’s all good!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kneeling on the ground, he strapped the ice skates onto the bottom of his shoes. He wobbled onto his feet, his arms spread out to keep balance. “Keep a lookout for Pritchard, would you?” Crowley said to Cropper. “Who knows how many chores I’ll be doing if he finds out?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good luck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley snapped his head around to face Cropper. “What’s that supposed to mean?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Narrowing his eyes, Crowley glared at his horse. He made a gesture with his finger, pointing towards the direction of the village, then at Cropper, and finally at his own throat. He made a swiping motion, putting on his best intimidating face. Cropper only seemed to scoff, but it was enough for Crowley. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slowly walked forward. Teetering, he bit down onto his lip. His fingers closed into fists as he stepped onto the ice. Crowley yelped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His arms swung around him, and he lurched forward, sliding further out from steady ground. He leaned backwards. His feet slipped underneath him, and he flailed from side to side. It was a good minute until he found his balance. Not to his surprise, he could hear Cropper’s laughter from behind him. He sighed, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley stared intensely at his feet. He slowly slid one foot forward, and then the other. The ice was more slippery than he had originally intended, and it slightly complicated everything. In hindsight, Crowley wasn’t quite sure what he expected. Just… not this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gust of wind blew against him, and he swore under his breath. His feet spread apart, and Crowley cried out as his hands instinctively grabbed his head. His left leg buckled before he could do a full split, and his eyes screwed closed when the ground came dangerously close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His elbows were the first thing that hit the ice. Crowley winced at the loud smack that it made, and he sucked in his breath as pain shot through his arms. He curled in on himself, groaning as he peeked open one of his ice. Slowly, he exhaled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley rolled up one of his sleeves to examine his elbows. To his relief, his skin hadn’t broken. There would only be a bruise or two. Bending his elbows, he tested out the pain. He frowned to himself. Would Pritchard notice it when he practiced shooting? It didn’t hurt too badly, but it ached and was sure to diminish his strength quicker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Climbing onto his feet, Crowley hummed to himself. It was fine, he told himself. It was just a minor problem. Everything would be fine. He could still walk and talk, and nothing was stopping him from doing anything. Pritchard wouldn’t notice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would be fine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, Cropper called out. Blood drained from Crowley’s cheeks, and a strand of his copper hair fell in front of his eyes. He gulped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe not. Maybe Pritchard would catch him. He wasn’t going down without a fight though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley sprinted towards Cropper. He slid across the ice, perfectly gliding with his cloak flying behind him. It didn’t even occur to him that he was doing it, but a smile found its way onto his face nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was short lived, and Crowley shouted when his skates caught onto an uneven piece of the ice. “Cropper!” he gasped as he tried to stop himself, twisting sideways. His hand flew over his mouth before he could let out another shout, knowing fully well that Pritchard would have heard it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t matter, really. He must have heard the first one. But Crowley couldn’t help but hope. False hope, it may be, but it was better than nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I warned you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, be quiet, you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley pushed himself up, and the pain that shot through his leg was unbearable. He staggered forward, landing face first onto the snow when his leg gave out. He scrunched up his face, rolling onto his back and reaching for Cropper’s reins. “Come on,” he said. “Help me up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cropper needed no signal to start running when Crowley finally got into the saddle. It felt like seconds when they got to the cabin. Crowley didn’t waste any time. He sprung out of his saddle, flinching when he put pressure on his bad leg. His hands landed on the steps of the veranda, and Crowley used it to push himself forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fumbled with the door. His heart grew louder with the second. His muscles screamed. Crowley rushed inside. He slammed the door behind him. Shrugging off his cloak, he lunged for the logs in the corner of the room and tossed a couple into the simmering fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His foot burned, but he forced himself to keep going. He had only barely put on the coffee pot when the door opened to reveal a snow covered Pritchard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pritchard!” Crowley said. He put on his best smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley,” he said, pulling down his hood. Pritchard looked around the room. “Did you finish everything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you do anything… unconventional?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Crowley smiled, shifting his weight on his good leg. He leaned casually against the wall. “Is coffee unconventional?” he said, nodding at the pot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard a scream when I was on my way back,” Pritchard said. He hung his cloak next to the door and took a seat in his armchair. “It sounded awfully like you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley’s smile only widened. Sweat began to form on his forehead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cropper’s saddled.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Crowley gulped. “You taught me to always be prepared.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your ice skates are hanging off his back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In case you change your mind, y’know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Pritchard leaned back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked away when he crossed his arms and stared him down. He ran a hand through his hair. “Coffee?” he said, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley slowly set down the mug. “Yes?” he quietly said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re limping.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, he looked down at himself. He slumped down, taking a seat across from Pritchard. He tried to grin. “Surprise?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pritchard scoffed. He knelt onto the ground, gently pulling off Crowley’s shoes. Crowley winced at the purple bruise that was already forming. He stiffened when Pritchard touched it. He gritted his teeth. Pritchard’s sigh didn’t sound good. Their eyes met. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What were you thinking?” Pritchard asked, calmly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The ice was perfectly fine. I just tripped.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have gone in the first place!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley, your ankle is sprained. That’s going to take at most a month to heal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He shot onto his ground, immediately forgetting his dilemma. Cursing under his breath, he fell back onto the chair. “Are you sure?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was your own fault,” Pritchard said, grunting as he stood. He poured himself a coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about practice?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pritchard shrugged. “You can’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pritchard met his distraught gaze evenly. He took a sip of his coffee. “Look on the bright side,” he said. “You’re going to end up great at drawing maps.” </span>
</p>
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